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Agatha Christie’s Poirot: Curtain. Poirot’s Last Case (2013) sees Captain Hastings (Hugh Fraser) called into action. He’s still mourning the death of his wife, Bella, but when Hercule Poirot (David Suchet) calls, who is he to refuse. When he arrives at Styles Court, he finds Poirot is now confined to a wheelchair. Fearing a murder is about to take place, our dying detective needs someone to be his eyes and ears. The fact that Hastings has nothing between his ears is not a factor to be weighed. When it comes to the last case, the old team must be back together. While he may not be able to prevent it, Poirot does at least hope to be able to catch the one responsible. To add extra emotional weight to the episode, we’re introduced to Judith Hastings (Alice Orr-Ewing), the daughter of the good Captain. She’s currently working for one of the long-term guests at Styles Court, now being used as a hotel. This is post-war England and Styles Court is well past its glory days. Whereas other mysteries in this series have been filmed in immaculate settings, both Poirot and this old house are approaching a melancholic and terminal state. Of course, the house could be repaired, given enough money. Those of us who long ago read the book know this restoration exercise cannot be applied to Poirot. With his heart playing up, he has only days left to live. The question, of course, is how he should spend these final days.

In this episode, it’s not surprising to see Poirot returning to his Catholic roots. In the television adaptations, it was featured in Murder on the Orient Express as the man wrestled with his conscience. There are times when the use of the little grey cells may produce results which are not quite as expected. For him, the problem is the considerable flexibility in the boundaries of sin and, as a thinking man, he cannot avoid the idea he may be guilty, if only of the sin of pride in his intellectual prowess. On the Orient Express, he’s returning from advising the army on a delicate matter in which a man died as a result of the investigation. Indeed, death has never been far from his preferred outcome. If you consider the ending of Dead Man’s Folly, he considers the death of the killer(s) by suicide an appropriate outcome. There was sufficient evidence for the killer(s) to have been tried but that would have been untidy. He feels it’s socially acceptable for killers to take personal responsibility for their actions and to save the state the need for a trial and potentially expensive life imprisonment. I suppose the classic examples of this are Death on the Nile which might be considered a more humane ending than that provided by the criminal justice system in Egypt, and The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. So when it comes to Curtain, it’s perhaps appropriate we should be continuing this exploration of suicide, encouraged or forced.

In Catholicism, suicide is considered a sin. Life is a gift from God and it’s not for us to breach the sanctity of life. So at the very least, Poirot is breaching his own credo by encouraging criminals to kill themselves. In criminal law terms, suicide was a crime in many jurisdictions at the time Agatha Christie was writing. In England, it would therefore have been an offence for Poirot to incite or aid, abet, counsel or procure a suicide, successful or otherwise. Of course, such secular concerns would never stop an author from producing the result her protagonist considered the most appropriate. Lack of accountability is necessary if her series character is to continue in business but, in the final case, he can be seen to consider whether St Peter is going to be waiting with welcoming arms. To get the best view of this final book in the Poirot saga, it’s convenient to assess Curtain and The Labours of Hercules together. In the latter, the narrative is triggered when Poirot gives his word and fails to protect a young woman being used as bait to trap a master criminal. When the thief not only steals the jewels but also kills the girl, Poirot feels intense guilt. In his pride, it did not occur to him that the criminal would evade capture. We should therefore see this episode as a quest for some level of personal redemption. Poirot must reach an accommodation with himself and the inevitable fallibility that lurks waiting to spring its trap.

Here we have a more existential issue. If The Labours of Hercules is personal, Curtain is repaying a form of debt to the abstract notion of justice. Whoever the detective, the imperative is the same. He or she must strive to bring the wrongdoer before a court for judgement. This provides the necessary social utility to justify the sometimes extralegal strategies employed by the detectives. The more the detective strays from the procedures mandated by the law, the greater the debt owed to justice. We can only forgive the detective his or her trespasses when the gains significantly outweigh the losses. Think of it as an application of utilitarianism. If we were being strict in our use of labels, the detective would step over the line and become a vigilante. Under normal circumstances, this would justify dismissal and probable prosecution for the breaches of the relevant laws. But a state might decide the ends justified the means. So if a major criminal network was disrupted and key organisers taken out of play, this might be taken as exculpation. When we get to the possibility of deaths being retrospectively decriminalised, the decisions are more difficult. If we treat the Christie canon as sufficiently “real” to be judged by actual laws, we might accept the state’s decision to ignore Poirot’s assisted suicide plans for identified murders as legitimate public policy.

In discussing this issue, I invite you not to be misdirected by David Suchet’s performance as the dying Poirot which was beautifully managed. You’re supposed to see him as a sympathetic character. That’s supposed to seduce you into approving his behaviour both in this and earlier episodes. Let me provoke you into thought. Is there any real difference in outcome between Poirot and Batman? One uses his little grey cells and the other his technology and fists to beat the opposition to a pulp. In theory, neither intentionally kills an opponent, but in self-defence or the pursuit of the greater good, criminals are injured and die. In this case, the real point of interest lies in the reason why it will be almost impossible ever to prove this person guilty of any crime. We’re actually given a practical demonstration of how malevolent he or she can be, but this is not behaviour easily prosecuted. The criminal law requires certainty of guilt and is better suited to simple murderous attacks with weapons to hand than this more subtle approach. Hence the need for Poirot to take more direct action, although not quite in classic Batman style despite the use of the Poirotmobile.

For those of you who like completeness, the cast features Elizabeth Cole (Helen Baxendale), Daisy Luttrell (Anne Reid), Major Allerton (Matthew McNulty), Dr Franklin (Shaun Dingwall), Stephen Norton (Aidan McArdle) and Sir William Boyd-Carrington (Philip Glenister). During the course of the episode, we have a death by poisoning, a suicide and Poirot’s death by natural causes. All is explained in a letter which Poirot leaves behind for Hastings. Without being oversentimental, Poirot’s death is handled well although it might have been more appropriate to have Miss Lemon and Japp show up for the funeral. If they could all make it for the fake funeral in The Big Four, it seems a little mean-spirited not to spare a few moments for his loyal friends to mourn his actual passing. I’m left feeling Curtain makes a fine swan song for the great detective and, more importantly, the production is one of the better efforts in this series. It’s always better to finish on a high.

Agatha Christie’s Poirot: The Big Four (2013) (Season 13, episode 2) shows us in heavy-hitter territory with big guns coming together in circumstances we expect them to pull off genuinely bravura performances. Let’s start with the script by one of the most reliable hands in the business. Mark Gatiss and Ian Hallard are credited. I make no comment how the latter came to get the job. I simply assume the relationship between them was not considered relevant and that he earned this sole writing job on merit. Appropriately given the title, we have Hercule Poirot (David Suchet), Captain Hastings (Hugh Fraser), Miss Lemon (Pauline Moran) and Assistant Commissioner Japp (Philip Jackson) in a reunion episode to celebrate the final set of adaptations to more or less complete the Christie canon. Having brought them all together, it seems rather a shame not to give Hastings and Miss Lemon more screen time. Hastings in particular is made to look even more a sidekick adrift without a rudder than usual in this episode.

I’m also obliged to characterise this play-dead ploy from Poirot as even more cruel than usual. We’ve grown used to his benign contempt for those inferior mortals around him, but allowing them to go through a funeral is pushing it a little. While thinking about that, we should also comment on the absurdity of the police not noticing the absence of a body at the site of the explosion. Even in those pre-CSI days, the amateur forensic team would have noted the absence of body parts and blood. The fact someone found his walking stick confirms a search. This means, at the very least, Japp must have been aware of the pretense and so in on the decision to abuse the emotional health of the two sidekicks. I was also disappointed not to use the device of Hercule reappearing as Achille. One of the problems of pretending death is where to hide when you have one of the most recognisable faces in London. Agatha Christie’s in plain sight solution might be a little silly, but it’s better than the embarrassed silence of this plot. Perhaps they did not want to sacrifice the mustache

We should not be surprised this potboiler melodrama, first published in 1927, has been left untouched until now. Structurally, the first book appeared as a fix-up, i.e. the elements in the book were published separately as short stories and then amalgamated into the “novel” we know today (or rather we avoid knowing today because it’s one of Christie’s worst books). That’s why some applause should ring out for Mark Gatiss. He has contrived to completely restructure the basics of the plot, changing the order of the deaths, and producing a coherent story with a rather remarkable ending in which everything but the kitchen sink appears to pad it out. This is not so much a condemnation as you might imagine. The unmasking of the villain may grow increasingly absurd, but there are elements of fun to make it watchable including the rather pleasing attack on Poirot’s vanity and his sense of theatricality in wanting a confrontation with all the suspects at the end.

So what’s this version of the story all about? Well, despite the advanced age of our primary characters, we’re set in the 1930s at a time when the world is beginning to fear there might be a second war. There are incidents in different countries which cause a certain loss of confidence. News media whisper the name of a new criminal organisation calling itself The Big Four which seems to ferment disorder with a view to profiting from arms sales. Led by a Chinese thinker, the Peace Party tries to right the balance, but an attempt to produce some degree of rapprochement with Russia comes unstuck when an old Russian chessmaster dies unexpectedly while playing an exhibition match. With suspicion falling on Abe Ryland (James Carroll Jordan), one of the people fronting the Peace Party, he disappears. This suggests he is one of The Big Four. Then one of the world’s experts on the Chinese leader is brutally murdered in his home. What is it that this leader is trying to hide? When a further murder implicates Madame Olivier (Patricia Hodge), the third leading member of the Peace Party, the press are convinced this Party has been playing a double game, terrorists masquerading as peace ambassadors.

So the first section of this adaptation plays the paranoia game with even the “respectable” newspapers stirring up anxiety. As the reputation of The Big Four rises, the attempts of the British government to calm the public with bland reassurances fail. Sadly the no-smoke-without-fire trope worked just as well in the 1930s as it does today. I’m slightly disappointed Tysoe (Tom Brooke), the pervasive journalist, was given such a lower middle class accent. Speaking like that, he would not have been allowed through the doors of the foreign office, let alone be permitted to speak to a senior civil servant. And talking of accents, we have the absurdity of a Belgian and French character talking to each other in French-tinged British accents instead of la belle langue with subtitles. I liked the character of Flossie (Sarah Parish) as the totally self-absorbed actress, but thought Simon Lowe played the part of the unmemorable Dr Quentin unmemorably.

So given the source material is so poor, the result on screen is quite pleasing. As always, the sense of period is done beautifully with every aspect of the production working to create the right look and feel. There are several gaping plot holes that I should mention. The first is the problem of time. Our chameleon killer can be everywhere being a clergyman, a delivery man, a chauffeur, etc. but also have a highly responsible role which should have required his presence on a full-time basis. And then there’s the question of how the drugged individuals were hidden and kept alive during such a long period. There just aren’t enough hours in the day for the killer to have fitted all this in. And did they really leave theatres in mothballs for fifteen years when rep and music hall were at their height? I don’t think so. And although the motive for one of the deaths fits, the overall point of all the press manipulation and murders is less than convincing. This leaves me thinking the result has one or two good moments but is, on balance, a failure. David Suchet is outstanding, genuinely coming alive in the confrontation at the end. But everything else collapses as a house of cards when the door of thought opens and you review what happened.

Agatha Christie’s Poirot: The Jewel Robbery at the Grand Metropolitan (1993) (Season 5, episode 8) first appeared as a short story under the title, “The Curious Disappearance of the Opalsen Pearls” in 1923 and, by any standards, it’s a fairly slight case. Hercule Poirot (David Suchet) and Captain Hastings (Hugh Fraser) are staying at the Grand Metropolitan in Brighton where they meet the Opalsens. He made his money in oil and she spends his money collecting jewellery. When she tries to show off her latest acquisition, a necklace, they discover it has been stolen. It seems one of the maids is responsible but, quick as a flash, the great Hercule Poirot unmasks the real villains.

Hermione Norris looking guilty as the companion

Now we come to the adaptation by Anthony Horowitz which takes this thin gruel and spins it into a delightful period piece. This time, the location and props departments have outdone themselves in transporting “Brighton” back in time — it’s actually Eastbourne standing in for its more celebrated cousin, but we can gloss over this inconvenient fact. It’s quite wonderful to see the streets so full of period vehicles, the costumes are magnificent and the use of locations superb. So now to the new story. According to the doctor called to examine our great detective, he’s been working too hard and therefore must be despatched to Brighton to take the sea air. This will dispel the sore throat and sniffles, and generally restore the little grey cells to their usual vigour. With relief, Miss Lemon (Paula Moran) waves him off. We’re then introduced to a nice running joke for, as Hercule Poirot leaves what’s supposed to be Brighton railway station, he’s immediately accused of being Lucky Len and the reward claimed. For those of you not of an advanced age, newspapers used to promote themselves by sending out reasonably distinctive people and, if a person holding the newspaper correctly challenged them using specified words, they could claim a reward. Needless to say, wherever Poirot goes, he’s immediately challenged. We get a sight of the actual Lucky Len at the end of the show.

David Suchet and Hugh Fraser examine the drawer

Life at any seaside resort would not be complete without a “theatrical” experience or two and Brighton was, and is, no exception to this rule. The Theatre Royal and Pavilion Theatre have been beautifully preserved. This adaptation has Mr Opalsen (Trevor Cooper) as a theatrical impresario with his wife, Margaret (Sorcha Cusack) the leading lady. To maximise the publicity for his latest play, Mr Opalsen has purchased a famous set of pearls. We meet the playwright, Andrew Hall (Simon Shepherd) who’s having problems in clearing his gambling debts, the companion Celestine (Hermione Norris) and Saunders (Karl Johnson), the driver. The padding is spectacularly brave with Hercule Poirot seeing Mr Worthing book into the hotel, then realising the solution to the robbery lies in The Importance of Being Ernest, and finally framing Mr Opalsen for fraud, in part as payback for exploiting his name to get additional publicity for the play. Miss Lemon also gets back into the action, this time talking to London fences about jewellery.

Paula Moran collects evidence in London

Quite frankly, the audacity of it all is remarkable and the results are wonderful. This is completely in character and, although I disapprove of the romantic ending (which would be doomed to failure given Andrew Hall’s gambling addiction), this is yet another successful adaptation cum dramatic expansion of a short story to add to the others in this series. The only fly in all this ointment is the likely legal consequences. Mr Opalsen has been wrongly accused and arrested for fraud. This would give him actions in tort for false arrest and false imprisonment against the police. More excitingly, he could sue Hercule Poirot and bankrupt him in libel for, no matter that impresarios live and die by publicity, an accusation of fraud just before his theatre company is about to take off for a tour of America is hardly likely to bring in the audiences. Counterbalancing this defamation is the return of the pearls so audiences might come to see them, worn six nights per week and one matinée by the leading lady. The only other comment I would make is as to the box in which the pearls were stored. It actually looked no more substantial than something you could buy at Woolworths and the key itself was so small with one simple lever that anyone with a hair grip could open it in five seconds. It was not a secure box and, worse, kept in an unlocked drawer. That said, since it was under “guard” most of the time, the screams of Celestine would alert all those around her to the presence of a robber with a gun in the hotel bedroom. Well, I did say the adaptation of The Jewel Robbery at the Grand Metropolitan was audacious. Perhaps entertainingly foolhardy would have been a better choice of words.

Agatha Christie’s Poirot: Dead Man’s Mirror (1993) (Season 5, episode 7) is an adaptation of a short story that first appeared in 1932. It was then expanded for inclusion in Murder in the Mews, a collection published in 1937. Such is always the way with an author. You write something one day and then see a way in which it can be improved the next. Except, of course, the expansion does little to help a modern television company looking for a one-hour show. The challenge for Anthony Horowitz as scriptwriter, therefore, is to remain faithful to the spirit of the original while adding to it. In many ways, the strategy adopted here for filling out the content is rather clever. The textual story begins with Hercule Poirot (David Suchet) peremptorily summoned by Sir Gervase Chevenix-Gore (Iain Cuthbertson) and, when he arrives, he finds his client dead. Since the key to the case is the eponymous mirror, the television version has Sir Gervase outbid Hercule Poirot for the mirror at an auction and then use the mirror to lure the detective to his home and accept a commission to investigate an initially unspecified fraud. In other words, Hercule Poirot would not usually have forgiven the man for his rudeness, but would swallow his pride if he thought he would get the mirror in part-payment for his services.

Vanda (Zena Walker) asks her spirit for guidance

So, Hercule Poirot and Captain Hastings (Hugh Fraser) set off into the countryside by train. We have backstory showing Ruth (Emma Fielding) has already married Lake (Richard Lintern) with Ms Lingard (Fiona Walker) secretly observing, and our dynamic duo meet Susan (Tushka Bergen) on the train. Hugo (Jeremy Northam) meets them at the station and we see his workshop where he’s trying to develop stainless-steel framed furniture for the market. Sir Gervaise is threatening to cut him off without a penny which would leave him unable to pursue his commercial dreams. When we arrive at the house, Sir Gervaise wants Poirot to investigate Lake for an apparent fraud. More interestingly, we then come to another Agatha Christie supernatural element. The wife of Sir Gervaise is called Vanda (Zena Walker). She believes she has a spirit guide from Ancient Egypt who has warned her that a death is coming. Hercule Poirot is fascinated and gets details.

We then follow the plot of the original story except now Hercule Poirot and Captain Hastings are house guests. Captain Hastings hears the gong for dinner, but Hercule Poirot does not. They both hear what they assume to be a shot and, when they break into the study, find Sir Gervaise has apparently shot himself in the head holding a gun in his left hand. This looks to be a suicide with the mirror broken by the bullet. When Inspector Japp (Philip Jackson) arrives on the scene, he’s all for it being self-inflicted, but Hercule Poirot points out that the man was right-handed and he’s curious as to where the bullet is.

Hugo (Jeremy Northam) and Susan (Tushka Bergen) talk about furniture

We then have some nice padding involving Lake’s fraud and get into the ending where Anthony Horowitz has outdone himself to flesh out the supernatural element into a full-blown manifestation of the Egyptian spirit. It’s all magnificently silly but it does nicely bring us to the hour mark (allowing for ads) without it looking too forced. The pleasing thing about this particular episode is that, for once, the adaptation is meticulously fair in showing us all the minor hints and clues in plain sight. Too often, the answer turns on something only the great detective would have known. This time, we get every detail and have the same chance to work out who must have done it. Equally of interest is the supernatural element. As I have commented elsewhere, Agatha Christie was writing at a time when table-turning and other spiritualist events were common. She could therefore hint at current social trends and be more immediately understood. Today, we’ve moved away from accepting spiritualism as real and now indulge our interests in more extreme forms of the supernatural. What would have been considered really spooky ninety years ago would be far too tame for today’s audience. That means the modern scriptwriter is working on a knife edge to keep the sense of the original while making it less naive for our sensibilities. Finally, a word must be said about Iain Cuthbertson who contrives to be rather magnificently unpleasant in such a short space of time before being bumped off. The rest of the cast do enough to be distinctive without distracting our attention from David Suchet and Hugh Fraser. Overall Dead Man’s Mirror proves to be one of the better episodes with Hercule Poirot seen to be relying on key people to be gullible when he pushes their buttons.

Well, as adaptations and embellishments of short stories go, Agatha Christie’s Poirot: The Adventure of the Italian Nobleman (Season V, Episode 5) is something of a triumph and full credit to Clive Exton for taking a thin story first published in 1923 and, with one minor blemish, making it entertaining for the full hour. Let’s start with the heart of Miss Lemon (Paula Moran). She moves through the novels and short stories as an essentially sexless creature, always responsible and efficient in her role. Yet here there’s a risk she may fly the nest and leave Hercule Poirot (David Suchet) for Mr Graves (Leonard Preston), an ex-Navy man working as a private secretary to an Italian count. For once, Poirot rises above selfishness and encourages Miss Lemon to find happiness if it’s on offer. He seems sanguine that this may trigger the departure of his valued secretary. Indeed, he even volunteers to meet the man and both he and Hastings find him acceptable for Miss Lemon. During the conversation, this Mr Graves even shyly admits to owning a small motor cruiser. It was offered to him at a giveaway price as he was leaving the navy. As a final gesture, he tells Hercule Poirot that his employer, Count Foscatini may be acting on behalf of the Italian government to recover some documents being used to blackmail someone politically important. Naturally, he doesn’t have the position to invite Hercule Poirot into the case, but it’s an indication Hercule Poirot’s little grey cells may be required in the future.

Hercule Poirot is also loyally following Captain Hastings (Hugh Fraser) as the latter considers the possibility of buying one of those wonderful Italian sports cars of the period. There’s some tooing and froing before Hastings decides to take the plunge, witnessing an argument in the showroom as he writes out his cheque. During all this Poirot remains convinced the only point of a car is that it has four wheels that will not fall off and get him where he needs to go with the least alarm.

At this point, we pick up the plot of the original short story as Poirot and Hastings are dining with Dr Hawker (Arthur Cox), a neighbour, when a telephone call is received from a patient. The maid relays the message that Count Foscatini (Sidney Kean) says he’s being murdered and would someone please come and help. When they arrive at the flat, they find the Count dead, meet a spooky Siamese cat, and call for the police (not because of the cat, you understand). Poirot sums up the position of the body next the phone and the dining table set for two. He talks to the building’s chef (David Verrey) who confirms sending two soups, Dover soles and a rice soufflé, almost all of which was eaten. When they return to the flat, Inspector Japp (Philip Jackson) has taken charge and, to their surprise, Mr Graves walks in. It seems he’s been exaggerating his status a little. Rather than a private secretary, he’s actually a man servant. Ah, the things men say during early courtship to talk the bird down from the tree. When the fingerprints on the two coffee cups and wine glasses are analysed, it appears that the Count was eating with Mario Asciano (Vincent Riotta), a known Italian criminal. This is presumably the blackmailer Mr Graves was talking about.

The Chef (David Verrey) remembers everything

Hercule Poirot and Hastings therefore hotfoot round to the Italian Embassy. Sadly, the high-ranking officials refuse help but, as they are leaving, a member of staff tells them that a forerunner of the Mafia, a dangerous criminal organisation, is almost certainly involved. When Mario Asciano is tracked down, the burnt ashes of the blackmail papers are found but no money. He’s arrested for the murder. Except all is not well in the garden as Miss Lemon’s research shows there’s no such title as the Count of Foscatini and the post mortem shows the Count did not eat before dying. There’s a nice piece of stage business involving a mirror with Hastings trying to distinguish his left from right and then an interminable car chase as the real killer tries to make a run for it with the money. While it’s always wonderful to see so many period vehicles driven by stunt drivers in the recreation of a slow-motion chase, this was excessive.

A Humber 6 and the star of the episode

So there we have it. In a way, the mystery element is rather superfluous. It’s rather obvious whodunnit although the motive is not without merit. Miss Lemon does end up with a new man in her life. With Graves no longer having an employer, someone has to look after the Siamese cat — if you remember, she was mourning the loss of her last cat in The Adventure of the Egyptian Tomb, also adapted by Clive Exton. Hercule Poirot shows he’s a caring employer. Captain Hastings is left to worry about his new car and, for once, Inspector Japp can emerge from a Poirot mystery without having been made to look a complete fool. All in all, The Adventure of the Italian Nobleman is a superior episode with Leonard Preston particularly pleasing as the love interest.

Agatha Christie’s Poirot: The Yellow Iris (1993) (Season V, Episode 3) continues the adaptation of short stories into one-hour episodes. This is somewhat ironic in the case of The Yellow Iris because Agatha Christie herself took the time and trouble to expand the story into the novel Sparkling Cyanide, albeit not featuring the original Hercule Poirot. This would never do, of course, when David Suchet is now synonymous with the role of Hercule Poirot. Better to stick with Poirot in the shorter version than to introduce Colonel Race. It would only confuse us. Indeed, when ITV did make Sparkling Cyanide, all confusion was avoided by naming a minor character Colonel Geoffrey Reece — long live Hercule Poirot!

Pauline Moran, David Suchet and Hugh Fraser admire the yellow iris

So The Yellow Iris is both good and bad. As we have come to expect from this series, the production values are first class. No expense is spared to reproduce Buenos Aires as one military government is due to replace another. We have soldiers in the streets with period tanks and troop carriers to lend authenticity to the whole. The inventiveness of the location finders and the way the scenes are set up is a delight to behold. However, nothing visual can cover up the thinness of the material. Essentially Hercule Poirot is supposed to be passing through Buenos Aires on the way to visit Captain Hastings (Hugh Fraser) but, before he can navigate through his stop-over, he’s a witness to a death in a French restaurant. Then, before you can say [whatever long word captures your imagination], he’s arrested and deported as a spy. The Argentine General’s threat to call in the French Consul is a nicely judged insult. This unhappy combination of events gives Hercule Poirot an unsolved crime (if such it be) in his resumé. This rankles so, when Miss Lemon (Pauline Moran) brings him a yellow iris almost two years later, he’s immediately interested. There were yellow irises on the table when the first death occurred. Captain Hastings confirms a new French restaurant with the same name is due to open in London. Such a coincidence is not to be ignored and a quick visit confirms a table has been reserved on the opening night by the same group (less the dead woman, of course).

Death by yellow iris

The first scenes in the Argentinian version of the restaurant are well done although there’s a relentless padding to fill out the time. This involves a tango between two of the diners and a sultry song being sung. However, when the meal is rerun in London, it’s immediately obvious who the killer must be and how the murder was committed. Perhaps I’ve just read too many detective novels but, despite the best efforts of the scriptwriter, Anthony Horowitz, and the director Peter Barber-Fleming, to distract us, the last ten minutes are just treading water until our suspicions are confirmed. There’s actually a much better version of the same methodology in a Father Brown story where he solves the crime without ever leaving a room — it’s all in the footsteps he hears. Anyway, it’s always good to see David Troughton, in this case as the grieving husband, and the rest of the cast acquit themselves well despite the limited nature of the plot. It’s fairly good despite the threadbare story and, if you want to prove yourself as a superior armchair detective, this is a perfect opportunity for you to identify the killer early.

Agatha Christie’s Poirot: The Case of the Missing Will (1993) (Season V, Episode 4) is something of an oddity. For all we have the usual cast of stalwarts with David Suchet as Hercule Poirot, Hugh Fraser as Captain Hastings, Pauline Moran as Miss Lemon and Philip Jackson as Inspector Japp, this is essentially an original story rather than an adaptation of the short story bearing the title which first appears in 1923 before being collected in Poirot Investigates, first published in 1924. In most of the other television shows featuring Poirot, there’s at least a tip of the hat by the scriptwriter to the Agatha Christie original. Perhaps surprisingly, Douglas Watkinson obviously wrote down the title at the top of a blank sheet of paper and then decided to write his own story to go with the title. Or perhaps someone at Granada Television instructed this change. Who knows after so many years.

Beth Goddard as a very modern girl

So let’s take this step by step. The original has a young lady approach Poirot with a puzzle. A will has “gone missing” and she would like him to find it for her. After a little thought, Hercule Poirot complies and so, through his agency, the woman meets the condition in the discovered will and inherits the estate. Hercule Poirot accepts her intelligence in asking the best detective in the world to crack the mystery and walks away. This story has us start with the childless Andrew Marsh (Mark Kingston), a wealthy businessman, announcing the terms of his will in the 1920s. Some years later, as Hitler and Mussolini are starting to make waves in Europe, the action relocates to Cambridge University where two of the three children who heard the announcement are now students. The theme of this episode is the pressure for more gender equality. Under the terms of his will, Violet (Beth Goddard) is expected to marry and effectively gets nothing. The patriarchal Marsh assumes her future husband will provide for her. John Sidaway (Terrence Hardiman) and Peter Baker (Neil Stuke) are to receive what would, in those days, have been a reasonable capital sum. They are, respectively the children of Sarah Siddaway (Rowena Cooper), a friend of the family and an Australian woman who had come over to England as Marsh’s housekeeper. When Hercule Poirot comes to meet the family again, Marsh tell him that the will is to be changed and our detective hero is to act as the executor. The intention is to remove the bequest of the bulk of his estate from a medical foundation, and to leave everything to Violet. Before he can make this change, he’s found dead.

Rowena Cooper as a loving mother and loyal friend

So far, so good. There’s a good command of the two different periods with the Cambridge scenes particularly well done. There’s also a nice moment in the London underground. A researcher must have found one of the older style escalators. Except the plot left me somewhat confused. When the family and Hercule Poirot come to the offices of the family solicitor, he announces that the will has gone missing. At no point thereafter does there seem to be any serious attempt to find the will. The police are not informed. It’s just assumed the property will now pass on intestacy. Frankly, this is incomprehensible. There are innumerable witnesses to attest to the terms of the will and the solicitor would confirm that his client had given no instructions to destroy or otherwise revoke the will. The fact the will had evidently been removed from the solicitor’s office without permission would fuel a murder enquiry. The Probate Court would have granted probate on the original will, giving all the property to the medical foundation. If anyone tried to establish a claim based on intestacy, this would have been taken as prima facie evidence of the murder.

Anyway, Hercule Poirot defines the terms of the investigation to decide which of the three children is Marsh’s illegitimate heir. Since I was having real difficulty in distinguishing between the two young men (even though one was at University and the other was in the army) I rather gave up trying to follow who might be the child of whom or might have been the killer. If I had watched this from the DVD, it would have been easy go back through the episode to work it out after the event. But since I’m watching these episodes rerunning on a terrestrial channel, I’m left with an imperfect grasp of what happened. I understand how and why the murder took place but, even now, I can’t honestly say I care. This is one of the worst episodes of all time. If a scriptwriter is doing nothing more than adapt an existing plot, he or she can blame the quality of the source material if the adaptation faithfully reproduces it. But if you are writing an original, then a professional writer researches the law and gets a plot to make sense. Then, in the casting, we should get people more easily distinguishable.